I was only supposed to be in Portland, Oregon, for four months. Eight years later, though, I’m still here.
When I first moved to the city at 22, I knew little to nothing about Portland. Although I’d spent time elsewhere in the Pacific Northwest, I’d never even visited Oregon.
I was offered an editorial internship, though, and saw this as my chance to leave home, have more freedom, and start my career.
Any opportunity, especially one that would let me write, felt worth the leap. Then, in the blink of an eye, what was supposed to be a brief blip turned into nearly a decade.
At first, Portland felt like the perfect place for me
Portland’s quiet green spaces, access to nature, quirky commitment to staying “weird,” and community of small businesses made the city feel just right. I loved the food carts, walkability, and general pace and culture.
I found a charming one-bedroom with a large living room and natural light in a quiet, walkable neighborhood near downtown, for a rent below market rate.
My apartment gave me a home base, and with that came a deep sense of independence that felt imperative in my early 20s.
As I adjusted to my new city, I created rituals that made Portland feel like home: grabbing a slice from Sizzle Pie, floating the river with friends in the summer, wandering through Powell’s for books.
Now that I’m 30, the city I once loved doesn’t feel right anymore
I work in journalism, and around the time I turned 30, I started to feel like this city might not be the best place for the career I’ve been building.
Although Portland is home to powerhouse brands like Nike, Intel, and Adidas — and there are tons of small businesses and local media organizations — many of my dream roles seem to be based in cities like Los Angeles, New York, or Atlanta.
Also, although there is a vibrant Black community here, the Portland metropolitan area is predominantly white. Some days I walk outside, and barely see anyone who looks like me.
After growing up in a majority-white suburb, my neighborhood sometimes makes me feel like I never really left.
I’m learning that as I grow older, what I’ll need in a city might change — and that’s OK
I’m no longer 22, 24, or even 29. I’ve realized that what I need in my 30s might be different from what I needed several years ago.
Portland will always be the first place I truly lived on my own, and it gave me room to grow, reflect, and find myself. I found so much joy in sunset hikes, aimless wanders through Powell’s, afternoons at the Portland Art Museum, and live music in the parks.
I’m grateful for my time here, but I’m ready for something new.
Maybe I’ll move to LA, where the creative community feels more accessible. Or I’ll go back to London, a city I once lived in for college, where I felt so inspired by its pace and diverse mix of people.
Although I’m excited to move to one of these cities whenever the right opportunity comes, I know that my next home might not be forever, either.
One of the biggest lessons Portland has taught me is that different chapters call for different places — and even though Oregon no longer feels like home, I know I’d happily visit again and again, with gratitude.
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